A profound sense of place

Wednesday

Nov 28, 2012 at 12:01 AMNov 28, 2012 at 12:30 PM

Mary Stuart | Mercury

Ana Flores, 56 | Artist

Uprooted by the Cuban revolution, the Flores family came to New England in the early '60s. Six-year-old Ana Flores was met with the blank white canvas of a snowy winter, so different from the lizards and tropical plants she’d left behind. As an artist, Flores is driven to explore how geography and place shape us, and to express the feelings of loss and displacement of the exile. A Rhode Island School of Design graduate, Flores is a sculptor, a painter, writer, environmental activist and community organizer. The Wood River Junction resident was the first artist in residence for a US Fish and Wildlife Center (the Kettle Pond Visitor Center in Charlestown, Rhode Island) and she’s the creator of the “Poetry of the Wild” project, now going into its 10th year. Woodland hikers may have encountered artfully constructed birdhouses containing fragments of poetry, evidence of an ongoing Poetry of the Wild installation. Her new show at the Newport Art Museum, “The Island Draws Me” is an homage to the Cuba of her birth and an expression of how that land shaped her.

You are a complex artist; you identify with the Cuban diaspora, you love nature, you’re a visual artist and a writer. Is there a single theme that ties all of these different aspects together?

I see them as coming out of a sense of displacement. There are certain places that imprint profoundly on you because of the conjunction of natural forces and history and Cuba is one of those places. Having been displaced, I am interested in how geography affects who we are. As an environmentalist and ecological sculptor -– that’s what I do when I’m not doing these shows about Cuba -– I try to use my work to connect people to the place where they are.

Tell us about your outdoor work. I never heard of a US Fish and Wildlife Center having an artist in residence!

When they were opening a center in Charlestown, I met someone who knew about the outdoor work that I was doing and they were excited by the idea of using the arts to bring people in. You can have wonderful programs about nature, but you might not get the audience that is interested in birdwatching. You can use the arts to bring in other angles about what nature is and other people.

When you went back to Cuba in 2002, did it feel familiar?

Yes. Cuba hasn’t changed. It was frozen in time, and it is falling apart, but there hasn’t been a lot of development. In this country if you returned to a place you hadn’t been for 40 years, there would probably be a mall there. But in Cuba, everything is intact but crumbling. Also, when I arrived here, because it was so different, I didn’t forget where I came from. It didn’t merge with the new experience. It was frozen in amber.

Were there signs early on that you would be an artist?

My father was an architect and my mother was a painter, so I got the genes. When I came here I was six and I already knew how to draw. I didn’t know any English so for the first month I drew my way through school. Then kids recognized me as an artist rather than this weird new kid, and I thought, “This is pretty powerful stuff!” The power that art has to communicate was very obvious to me early on.

How does being bilingual affect the multi-dimensionality of your work?

I am very conscious of language, how if you think in one language you think in a certain way. I am very conscious of the shaping that words lend. For my parents, learning English was a serious endeavor. My father was memorizing Shakespeare before he even understood the words, because he figured Shakespeare was the best English writer. When I lay in bed at night, I could hear him reciting Shakespeare, a particular passage from The Tempest. Now I realize he was reciting Caliban’s speech that expressed a beautiful longing for the island.

Do you think there are aspects of Rhode Island that feel like an island?

I guess there is a certain island mentality here. When we landed in Charlestown, surrounded by woods, I felt like I couldn’t be any farther from where I’d started, but as I have dug into the local history which involves slavery -– one mile from my home is the site of a former plantation with 200 slaves -- and as I’ve worked with the Narragansetts in different projects, I have realized that they are exiles in their own country. The history between Cuba and Rhode Island turns out to be quite similar.

One of the themes of your current exhibit does deal with colonialism and slavery. I was really struck by “The Coffee Table.” (The piece is a silver coffee set on a tea table balanced on black human arms and legs).

That began with a silver coffee set that was in my husband’s family. It brought back memories of coffee with my abuela, but also the implications of the sugar that goes into the coffee. Sugar is why Cuba existed, and why slavery existed. When I saw the silver coffee set, all these things bubbled out.

There are other pieces in the new exhibit that seem to throw into contrast the “ruling” and the serving classes, is that right?

The irony that existed in my family and still exists throughout the world is that my I had a black tata, as did my mother and grandmother. You grow up with these black mothers and they sacrifice so much to be in that role. That is the person you bond with yet she is not fully validated in the family. There is an unacknowledged history of debt and dysfunction and this is not just about Cuba.

What is your process, do you start with an idea and then develop a form for it, or does an idea suggest itself from a shape?

Often an artifact does begin a thinking process. When I find an artifact like a great blue heron skull, (incorporated into the sculpture, “The House of the Poet”) those pieces sort of make themselves. Other pieces I design around themes. The paintings “Homage to Cuban Man” and “Homage to Cuban Woman” began as portraits of my parents, but are also reflections of how the island shapes us.

You are very different from an artist that spends a lot of time alone in the studio.

I balance my studio work with public projects. I need both. I think musical training is a good model for artists. If you play the cello, you are trained to master the instrument as a soloist but early on you also participate in ensembles and orchestra training. You don’t always get that as a visual artist because you are encouraged to be a studio artist. I have my periods of engagement, but then I go back to my studio. The current show about Cuba is coming out of such a period, for the last year and a half.

What artists have influenced you?

I have many art heroes and one of them is Goya. He was a court painter in Spain so he had to have a very presentable façade to paint portraits and fulfill his other duties, but he was an incredible political commentator. He did these amazing series of prints and paintings that were about the social darkness of the time and he got away with it! Another artist I admire is a contemporary -– William Kentridge. He is a genius in all ways, a draftsman, filmmaker, writer, set designer. He is an incredible voice about what is going on in South Africa. I respect artists who stand up and say what is going on underneath the surface.

You do that yourself, with your Cuban and environmental art.

Sometimes I wish I could paint still lifes, something regular that is beautiful, but certain pieces demand to be made. I must express things that are sometimes difficult even for me because I am a voice for other things.

"Ana Flores: The Island Draws Me" continues through January 6 at the Newport Art Museum. Flores will give a gallery talk on Gallery Night Thursday, December 13, at 5:30 p.m. www.newportartmuseum.org.

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